The Minds' Evil Games
by ForestWitch
Summary: Barty Crouch's son tells his about his life in Azkaban. Emotionally written.


I do hope you like this fic. It's the first of its kind, I believe. Please R/R!  
  
All characters belong to J. K. Rowling.   
  
  
  
  
  
I'm writing this now because I don't have much of a mind left. I have a few pieces of paper that flew in here the other day. Maybe, this way, someone will really find out the truth. Not the half truth, the WHOLE truth. None of this fake stuff.  
  
  
I was once a very loved boy. I had long, curly blond hair, and deep blue eyes which have now turned gray as ice. My mother loved me, and my father loved me. I was a cherished boy, who was surrounded by love. But love can make a person foolish. I was completely oblivious to the "dark side". It was nice not to have to worry about anything, one of the great perks of being young. But soon, I grew up.  
As a teenager, I was fascinated by the Dark Arts. My father was not worried; he was a big advocate toward Evil banishment, and he just assumed I would have to be too. I tried very hard to do what he wish; I took all the DATDA I could, and I even went with him on a few auroring trips.   
My mum was much more loving toward me. She did truly love me, and I never forgot that. When she died, I was devastated. She would help me with my school work, and comfort me when my father was in a particularly bad mood. Perhaps she would have been the deciding factor for my life if my father wasn't there. But he was.  
When I graduated from Hogwarts, the wizarding world was in turmoil. Voldemort had been getting stronger and stronger, and more and more people were found dead. I grew weary of this news; it no longer made me interested. I was very afraid all the same. I didn't know what to do if I confronted Voldemort. But it was all very easy, you see. He did confront me, and he made it EASY.  
I was in the woods, not far from my home, when he came to me.  
"You are the son of Barty Crouch are you not?" he had asked me. I nodded, very scared. I didn't want to say anything to upset him. He was very, very powerful.  
"Ah, you are confused. I see it. You don't know what is right, and what is wrong. Well, my dear boy, power is the only that is right. I believe that I have quite a bit of power." He gloated, quite happy with himself. I nodded.  
"You should join me. We would be very powerful. You would be on top of the world. People would shake at the sound of your name. You would become a loyal Death-Eater! And, you would be rebelling against that foolish father of yours. I know you want too. You want to do something different, some BOLD. Join me, and we can make these fools pay." He sounded so convincing. But truthfully, I had no choice. It was agree or die. I wasn't about to end my life.  
He taught me everything he knew. I was branded with the tattoo of the Death-Eater; a skull with a snake slithering out of the eye. It turned black whenever Voldemort wanted us. He taught me how to catch an Auror, and how to do the "Unforgivable" curses. I learned how to cry out "Crucio" without messing it up. I learned "Avada Kedavra" quite quickly, and it was my specialty.   
One fateful day, he told me that I needed to capture an Auror, Frank Longbottom. He had been quite busy, and had already captured several Death-Eaters. We planned to attack him at his house.   
When we arrived, we tortured the Auror and gathered information out of him. It wasn't very important, just interesting things about the Potters. I never understood why they were so important. We also attacked his wife, who didn't put up much of a fight. It was needless to torture their young child; he was far to young to remember any of it. By the time we were done, they had completely lost their minds, and we left them rambling in the attic of their house.  
I was caught, unfortunately, and I was set to be tried. I had no idea, of course, that my father would be sentencing me. If I would have known that, I would have made a better effort to get away.  
During the trial, I shouted out things to my father like "I'm Innocent!", and "I didn't do it, Father!". But, he didn't budge. Maybe he knew that I was lying. And, I was. I did do it. I was proud. I did it for my master, the only one who mattered. I was sentenced to life in Azkaban. But I knew that my master would come for me. He would reward me. I would be out.  
I would live again.  
  
  
  
That's the first Barty Crouch fic I've seen. Do you like okay? 


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